Fallen Night
by chantime
Summary: Prince Charming, where are you tonight? Are you looking for me? Sleeping Beauty has a trunk load of evidence and a guy she left dead in the shower.
1. Chapter 1

**I don't own anything!**

**Chapter 1**

**Taillight**

It was one in the morning when she made the county line and the blue lights appeared behind her. This was not good timing.

Bella Swan took the gun from her side harness, unsnapped the compartment from beneath the passenger seat and slid it inside.

As she pulled over, she unhooked the holster's strap then pulled the buckle free, depositing the harness into the backseat.

The murder probably hadn't been reported yet. She couldn't risk finding out with an unregistered weapon still warm from the round she'd sent between Alex Foi's bewildered blue eyes.

She pulled over to the side of the interstate out of South Carolina and waited for the cop to approach. It was a male. She could feel it when he opened the car door.

Then she saw his sandy hair and boyish face, fresh from whatever school he'd attended. His body was underdeveloped with a Barney Fife skinny inexperience that made her smile.

For fun, she glanced into the rear-view mirror. Her face was flushed. The excitement of the kill usually brought edges of colour to her pale features.

She ran her fingers through her brown hair tinted in nearly red shades, giving it the essence of a fading fire. She hoped her attractive qualities would make this stop brief.

"Good evening, Miss." The officer peered inside her window. He kept one arm above the door of the Lexus. His chest was puffed out and his voice sounded strained in his attempt to lower it to more manly tones. "What brings you along my interstate?" With that, he offered a smile that reminded Bella of a loser's attempt for a date.

"I was just heading to Virginia to meet up with some friends." Bella smiled, flashing caramel eyes as she reached the edge of her window with her driver's license and registration.

At that moment, she saw the blood on her hand. _Damn it_, she'd been sloppy.

It would be her luck to be busted by some young wannabe still wet behind the ears punk. He'd be promoted, while her life would be over if they traced the dozen or so murders to her.

Then again, her counterparts would have her eliminated, just like they had her father.

"Was it Virginia Beach you were going to, or the North Carolina line?"

"The beach." She winced and pulled her hand up just as he flashed his light inside going over her and the interior. Under the circular glow, she found more drops of blood.

It had been a close kill. Mr Foi had been reaching for a towel from the steamy shower stall when she'd grabbed his hand and sent a bullet into his brain.

It's amazing how fast a human can react. She'd fired the moment his head was free of the curtain. He hadn't struggled, not even pulled back.

His features were locked in eternal surprise as blood sprayed from the hole between his eyes.

"What's that? Are you okay, ma'am?" He flashed the light over her again.

"I just had a small accident." She held her hand up to show him the larger concentration and hoped he would believe a wound existed beneath the red splatters. "I guess the springs under these seats are sharp. I must've done it getting my purse out." She pouted. "Why exactly did you pull me over?"

"Your taillight is out, not to mention, you were speeding just a little through that straight away." He leered at her, shifting his weight toward her car.

"I didn't notice. It's so late; I was just hoping to make a few more miles before I had to stop." She offered him another smile, one filled with flirtation.

Bella let her fingers touch his hand as she took her license away. He trembled slightly from her touch, always a good sign.

"Maybe I should escort you to the hospital to have your hand looked at." He brought the circle of light over her again. It didn't stay on the blood drops, but lingered around her breasts.

"That won't be necessary. Maybe you could recommend a nice hotel. I'm so tired." He hitched up his pants and looked down the highway as if gaining his bearings.

"I believe there is a nice hotel about two exits down. You'll see the sign." He put his arm on her shoulder. "Would you like me to follow you there?"

"I wouldn't want to keep you from your job," she replied softly but noticed a change in his demeanour. His back stiffened and his hands fell to his hips. "If you'd like to check on me later, that would be fine," she quickly added to change his demeanour. His lips arched in a smile.

"I'd like that. I get off around eleven. Maybe I could swing by and check on you then." He touched the door of her car. His fingers were playful as they slid across the edge, near her window, before he brought his hand to his side. A repulsed chill went over her body.

"You have my name. Just ask the desk what room I'm in."

"Maybe I'll do that."

"Good. I'll see you later then." He nodded and tilted his hat back. With a slow strut, he went back to his car.

She didn't wait for him to pull away. She went ahead, merging into a pack of cars.

Sure enough, baby Bubba's headlights joined her on the road, tailgating to ease in behind her vehicle. Perhaps she'd been too flirtatious.

Bella saw the sign for the Quality Inn and took the exit. He followed. She didn't want to check into a hotel that she couldn't stay at simply for the purpose of losing a love lorn cop.

She didn't need the time loss. Never mind the fact that checking in for a minute would leave a trail for any pursuers.

The parking lot held a few cars. She pulled into the lot and found a spot in the back. She needed something that he couldn't see from the road. It would buy her more time.

Sure enough, the cop pulled in the lot and stopped near her car. She got out and hurried toward the office before he reached her. He beeped once. Geez this guy was desperate.

She turned and waved to him. With his date secured, he got back onto the interstate.

When his taillights were out of sight, she got back in her car and followed the scenic route through Santana Town.

Her head and legs ached. She'd crouched in her last kill's bushes for nearly an hour before the time was right. Hits drained her anyway.

There was the tedium of preparing for the kill. Every detail had to be figured into the perfect moment. The adrenalin built during each phase: the planning, the stalking, the entrance and the kill. When it was over and her heart stopped its mad race, she was spent.

A friend of hers, Edward, had once referred to it as a sexual high. She thought it an odd comparison, but to some, it must feel like that.

To her, it was a quest to fulfil another mission and make her family happy. Another chance to earn an approving nod. At one time, she had found it exciting, tasting the moment when she'd enter the house and find her victim unaware their last moments on earth had arrived. A flash, sometimes a half-scream and it was over.

The rush was gone and she'd report back in to her stepfather/ brother/ boss Charlie. It was hard to keep life and death in perspective. She had a deep spiritual side that chastised her every time a call came in.

Her job wasn't like working at the bank. It wasn't like she could turn in a two week notice, so she concentrated on the positives. There was the money and a terrific feeling of being above everything, the law, human beings, everything.

In the end, it all boiled down to doing what she knew and this was what she'd been trained to do since childhood.

After a hit, she liked to rest at a small beach front cottage she had at the outer banks of North Carolina. It was far away from the tourist areas with soft sand and the sound of the ocean.

Solitude was usually the most important thing to her, but this trip felt different. She wanted a little company. The only man she could call wasn't the one she wanted to speak to. She didn't really have a serious boyfriend.

The last man she cared about was a business associate, who thought of her as one of the boys. His name was Edward, a handsome, brilliant companion.

They shared so much, but not a single kiss. It was times like these, alone on the open road, when she thought about him. He wasn't the dating kind, so she called someone else, her safety net.

She picked up her cell phone and dialled Peter. A moment later, a very sleepy, slightly confused man answered the phone.

"What?"

"It's me." She already regretted calling him, but her life of isolation was eating at her brain. "How about spending the next week with me at the beach?" She spoke in gentle seductive tones. "I think we could both use a vacation."

"Like I'm just going to drop everything and come running to you when the mood hits." He huffed loudly.

"Bite me."

"I always knew you were the kinky type." She pulled over into a deserted parking lot and rubbed her eyes. It was at least a six hour drive yet and she was exhausted.

"You can look at this two ways, either you're whipped, or you're such a man that I have to have you. The choice is yours, unless you really don't want to see me."

"I'll catch a plane tomorrow." He hung up without another word.

She turned off her phone and got out to stretch her legs. The few streetlights above illuminated the splatters on her clothes. There could be no more close calls.

She opened the trunk and got into her black suitcase. First, she doused her hands with vinegar, rubbing the skin and nails with a brush until they turned a harsh pink.

She cleaned her arms with the same vinegar solution to remove the powder remnants. Next, she unzipped the main compartment.

On top was lingerie, a black bra, size thirty-four C, with a matching lace thong. Beneath that, was a pair of jeans, her favourites with wear in all the right places.

She pulled them out, along with a red sweater. There in the parking lot, she stripped off the garments of her crime. Her naked body was a pale contrast in the dark night and black asphalt.

The streetlights added a glow, as if it were a performance and any minute the curtain would drop. Her clothes were wadded, bagged and thrown into the trunk.

Then she wiped her face with a rag from her bag. Mascara came off in streaks, muting out the red spots that had been there. Another swipe removed all traces of make-up.

She hoisted the jeans over her hips and zipped them. The red sweater clung to her skin as she pulled it down. Her shoes were tossed into the trunk, along with everything else. She wouldn't need them.

Here, she could catch an hour of sleep. The next surface her feet would touch would be the moist sand of the beach. She curled her toes at the thought.

"Cool waves, wind and sand." She missed it there.

It was the opposite of her city apartment in New York. The trees were small but thick.

The ocean whipped at the dune in front of her house, rolling foaming mounds onto the sand. Small brown sand crabs would scurry along, diving into their holes.

The people were different too. New York was rushed, wanting to fit thirty hours into a single day. At Hatteras, people appreciated time.

They said hello to strangers and tried to connect everyone to a community. Food took a little longer to get.

The locals loved to tell visitors about the history or the newest gossip. It was a good trade. Not all of the Outer Banks were as friendly.

Developments ate large sections of the beach with rentals stacked in lines exposing realtor ads.

The people weren't locals anymore, but scavengers looking for opportunity or for escape. Her section hadn't been molested yet. In fact, her section was poor.

There were no mansions with pools in the back and the ocean in the front. The people were real and that's what she loved about them.

She reclined her seat and looked at the stars through the glass. Maybe she could retire soon. Charlie might allow it.

She could open one of those T-shirt shops along the strip next to the Home Cookin' Diner. She might even throw her gun into the ocean. Let the sand and salt water eradicates her sins while they rusted out the damn little pistol.

Maybe she could find a nice guy, not just a man for when she was lonely, but a serious relationship. Not another gun for hire.

Maybe she'd find someone who looked like Edward, but had a simple steady job.

She couldn't imagine Edward with a simple job. He was powerful and enigmatic. Not someone ready to settle down to a beach lifestyle.

Someone good or good for her had to exist. She laughed a little at the notion.

It would be nice to be in someone's arms, someone who loved her. Better yet, someone who didn't care about her past.

What a bedroom confession that would be. Oh, by the way, I've killed people in their homes for money. She was sure there weren't any men with reformed assassins on their want lists. It wasn't exactly good wife and mother qualifications.

With her luck, she'd fall head over heels for a police officer or an FBI agent. The idea made her laugh.

Something pure, like love, had no place in her life. Her adopted family had seen to that. Still, when she settled into sleep, it was a divine thought.

"Prince Charming, where are you tonight? Are you looking for me?" She laughed again. "Sleeping Beauty has a trunk load of evidence and a guy she left dead in the shower."


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't own anything!**

**Chapter 2**

**Meet**

It was afternoon by the time Bella saw her first glimpse of the ocean, rising like a blue universe choosing to be separate from the rock and soil above the water line.

It could come up and take the land if it wanted to. She knew and respected the ocean's brutality.

Waves formed in the distance, tumbling down into white froth and rumbling onto the beaches. The sun was high, but the wind held a bitter cold, turning the small vegetation sideways.

She braced herself, even before she opened the door. The cold cut through her, chilling her soul as the smell of salt infiltrated her senses.

She breathed deeply, letting the smell, the wind and the atmosphere flow through her and wash away the life she'd left behind.

It had been so long since she'd been home, too long. The city had almost taken her this time.

The grass that surrounded her home, the small patch that existed mixed with sand, was mowed. An elderly man by the name of Demetri took care of that for her.

The two trees in the front lumbered too close to the power lines, and the shrubs looked more like tattered mongrels.

It wasn't Demetri's fault. He did well for an eighty-year-old man. Every month, she mailed him a hundred dollars. It wasn't much, but sometimes it was all that kept him from starving.

Her bare feet touched the first stone step that crept up from the driveway and to the tiny section of grass and her grey home. Slat wood covered the outside of her house, weathered from years of abuse.

A stormy sky made its outline invisible as it rose above the ocean. The steps were cold, making her shiver.

She began an awkward trot up the bank to where the wooden steps began. There were seventeen steps from the first section to the porch.

Despite the height from the water, the front section had been built on stilts.

So far, the little beach house had withstood half a dozen hurricane threats and countless tropicals. The locals claimed this area was blessed and storms turned away.

Bella suspected the geography had more to do with it. The hard reef to the south and the shape of barrier islands to the north reduced flooding by breaking waves before shore.

Some sections weren't as lucky, being rebuilt many times. The thought of being blessed made buying the property a little easier though. Something in her life should be blessed.

She nearly bought a place at Bodie, mistakenly thinking it was a hard O. The pronunciation was body, named so for the dead bodies that would wash onto the shores.

Not a place to get away from murder, even if the bodies had stopped their assault on dry land. The idea made the place haunted and she didn't need that.

All she knew for sure was her home offered peace. The ghosts didn't disturb her here. There was no sound of her father's voice calling out. There was no sound of gunfire and at last, there was no blood. Somehow, the ocean always washed her clean, if that were possible.

She had her keys out before her hand ever touched the door. The old screen screeched its welcome as she pushed it aside and clicked the rusty metal lock.

The wind helped open the front door. It had been too long. Darkness filled her vision as her eyes tried to adjust.

She turned on the overhead light by the door and felt the strength drain from her body.

Damn, she was tired. The hit had been a hard one and the trip harder. It was time to rest.

She closed the door and locked it behind her. The next stop was her bedroom, her bed. This was where she felt comfort.

She was home, lost in the beige flowers creeping across a white field that was her bedspread.

Somehow, the sheets still smelled fresh and her thoughts drifted. She was little again. The smell brought her back to the warm feeling of the clothes when she'd pull them from the dryer. Dad helped.

They'd gather up the dirties, throw them in the wash, and wait until they'd come out of the dryer. Dad would wrap one of his big shirts around her. It was warm and soft.

They'd sit together for hours, with her on his lap, and watch television on an old set that barely worked. Those were the happier times, the times before Dad bought new televisions, clothes, even a new car.

That's when the calls started. Another special project from their benefactor would be telephoned in.

That's when she started hating that damn cop uniform. It no longer gave her a sense of pride to see her father in blue. The shiny buttons lost their fascination.

He'd become a hypocrite, or so Vicky Strauss had said. It took her two days to find out what it meant then she beat the crap out of Vicky, even though she knew it was true.

Daddy stopped being proud of what he did. He traded it in for being proud of what he owned.

She reached beneath the covers and pulled the last of her clothes off. They landed in a crumpled wad by the door.

It was too late to help him and too much to think about. Still, he managed to slide into her sleepy thoughts, corrupting her sacred place.

As sleep drifted in, she was no longer feeling the cool sheets against bare skin.

She was twelve, in her favourite pair of jeans with the knees worn out of them, hiding behind the chair while the gunman slipped out the fire escape window.

She was crying, lost, alone as her dead father's open eyes stared at her.

"Are you sure?" The Italian man with a square jaw line and pronounced nose set the receiver down. His furrowed brow carried more than worries, it showed fear.

"I need to know where Bella is hiding." A younger man sat on the corner of the desk with a grin on his face.

"I told you it sounded like her work." He laughed, exposing large white teeth. "Charlie, don't be so upset. It's not like she's family."

"Shut up, Felix." Charlie looked at the much younger man.

How could two brothers be so different? Lifetimes separated them. He had children older than this twit.

If only Father had kept his pants on. Momma's children never acted like this.

Bella wasn't family. She was Irish for goodness sake, but sometimes, blood didn't make family. He'd watched that little girl grow up and develop acute brutality under his direction.

He could still see her as a little girl, standing in the doorway pointing a thirty-eight calibre at Father. Her hair hadn't been combed, her clothes torn and dirty.

Even pointing a pistol at the most powerful man in the city, she wasn't afraid. She'd had nothing to lose.

He'd come up behind her, but couldn't bring himself to take out the little girl. Her vengeance was justified.

Look what they'd done to her father. Oh sure, in the meeting it hadn't sounded so terrible, just another dirty cop whose time had come.

Committing the act changed everything. It was the last time he'd personally choreographed a hit.

A guy named Laurent had pulled the trigger. They'd gone up the fire escape like common street thugs. Inside, they'd watched while Bella's father read her a story.

He'd gotten up to put her to bed when they snuck inside. He'd come back and died on the living room floor.

It was worse than a single life ending. Bella had no mother. He saw the little girl come out of her bedroom while he held the curtain back for Laurent.

She'd crept behind the chair and looked at her father on the floor. They had destroyed a little girl's world. It seemed someone needed to pay for it.

His dad saved himself from being shot by talking her out of it. It was the wild thing about their organization. Most politicians weren't bought with money.

It was Dad's silver tongue that created allies, even in a little girl who knew why her father had died.

"I'm just saying that she doesn't leave us any choice. She's asking for it. It's not like she's your brother." He smiled. "We have to put family, then business. Crazy females have no place."

"Leave me now. Your attitude isn't helping." Charlie looked at the chunky gold bracelet on his wrist instead of his brother.

Things would be easier if Felix had fucked up. A hit would be called and everyone would've seen him as a strong leader.

Felix could die in the street like a mongrel. For a moment, he smiled, imagining Felix in the fetal position left in a ditch along a dirt road.

He always imagined Bella handling the hit. She might even pop him on the toilet. His naked smelly ass exposed for all to see.

"I didn't mean anything." Felix's gaze fell to the floor as he left. "A hit." He didn't want Bella to fall.

"I have some calls to make." Charlie spoke to the closing door.

Bella wouldn't have done an unauthorized hit. She was unemotional about business. It was amazing she was a woman.

Twenty years ago, a woman would never have been used on delicate assignments. She hadn't missed yet.

"Charlotte," Charlie hit the intercom button, "where's Peter?"

"I'll find out. Sir, there was a question about rescheduling your luncheon tomorrow. Not all the members you requested could attend. Paul from The Rustic Corporation is having legal troubles and cannot make it until later in the week."

"Fine. Contact everyone and put something together. First, find Peter for me." Business was hard these days.

Back in his grandfather's day, business consisted of protection, gambling and women. These weren't always profitable ventures. It was his father that started dealing drugs. It wasn't the street crap like coke.

Their dealings were in pharmaceuticals and price fixing. It was great. Science would come up with some new crap. Their marketing group would start an ad campaign and before you knew it, every whiney ass hypochondriac was seeing their doctor for the goods.

Muscle was rarely needed, unless a test had to go in a certain direction or people tried to prosecute over unforeseeable problems.

Bella's latest assignment had been a Japanese company who had undercut the price agreement. Competition was bad with drugs. A pill that cost ten cents to make and sold at ten dollars apiece left a lot of room for all to make money.

When some punk group appeared selling these things at five dollars apiece, something had to give.

"Sir," Charlotte's voice came over the speaker, "Peter went out of town for a few days. Nobody knows what city."

"Thank you." Bella had been humping this guy for several months. It was a secret; mostly due to the fact Peter was Felix's only son.

Felix hated Bella. Felix hated anyone who was smarter. He was a hateful man.

Charlie dialled Bella's house. Only two people had the number to her beach getaway. He let it ring five times then a sleepy sounding Bella picked up the phone. At first, she sounded like that little girl they'd watched through the window.

Sometimes, he felt like they had committed two murders that night. Her childhood had died on the floor with her father.

"What?" Bella felt the remnants of her dream fade into oblivion. If this was Peter cancelling, she'd cut off his dick.

"It's me." He cleared his throat. "What do you know about a hit that went down around one this morning?" It wasn't like Charlie to call.

That blowhard usually left hits to written notes. Fear of the Feds wiretapping kept calls to a minimal.

"The Foi hit went fine, but if you must know, it happened closer to nine." She sounded arrogant, hell, she felt arrogant.

This was her space and he was violating it with nonsense. She was the best they had. It was time for a little respect. In her sleepy state of mind, she almost hung up the phone.

It would've been her death. Luckily, Charlie's Italian booming voice cut through the sleepy clutter and brought her abruptly into the real world.

"Not Foi, Vedenin. He was killed last night around one o'clock. A redheaded woman was seen leaving his apartment. A single bullet was fired into his head while he slept. Does any of this sound familiar?"

"Wait just a damn minute." Bella sat up and tried to process the information. Vedenin was an associate. "First of all, I didn't do any other hits last night. Secondly, if you'd think about the logistics, I mean Foi is two states away from Vedenin. It would be impossible for me to do both hits so close together. What's this all about?"

"Bella," he paused and it was an unsettling sound. There had been few secrets between the two and never a lie, until now. "It's nothing." He started to say something, stopped, then changed the subject.

"I just wanted to check with you. Enjoy your vacation." His breath turned heavy over the phone. "Your next job is in three weeks. I'll send you the information." The line went dead.

Doing an unauthorized hit was the equivalent of mutiny. What was worse, the hit sounded like her. Her trademark was a bullet between the eyes. It was always the same calibre and usually at that time of night.

The only saving grace was she'd already been on a hit. Whoever was setting her up wasn't high enough to know the agenda.

She slumped back into bed, giving the clock a cursory glance. No amount of fatigue would quiet her mind.

Foi had been in Florida. The last thing she'd heard was that Vedenin and his crowd hung out in Alabama, hitting the drug trade. He'd been talking over plans to go legit with Charlie.

"Shit." There was an unsettling feeling in her gut. She flung the covers back and felt the cold floor and chilly air.

She'd forgotten to turn up the thermostat. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she went to the hall and turned up the dial. Outside, the wind whipped against the house.

She opened the curtains in the kitchen and found dark skies with angry water churning below. A storm was coming. She shivered again and went to the bathroom. A hot shower would help.

The faucets were old with a milky film covering the chrome. Everything was plain. A large bevelled mirror hung above the sink.

It was the newest addition and one she'd made only when the old one had cracked in several sections. The floor was a brown tile. The shower and bath were separate.

Her shower was a small stall in the corner with a glass door, also covered with the same milky film. She changed as little as possible; fearing any influence she made would destroy the tranquillity.

Her touch was poison after all. She reached into the stall and turned on the hot water, letting the steam rise in puffs before getting inside.

The water was salty, but safe to drink thanks to a rusty system in the hall closet.

As the water beat against her skin, she felt the tension melt away and she imagined this was her way of life. She was a beach girl. There was no city.

She would get a job, maybe a waitress or secretary. She would join one of those local churches she drove by every day and find herself a decent man.

He would be a fisherman and during the slow times, he would take her out in his boat and whisper soft romantic sentiment.

She was pushing twenty five. Settling down had to be a possibility. There was the idea of having a family.

She couldn't send the kids off to day-care while driving to the next kill. What would she tell them? Mommy's traveling salesmen just don't ask what she sells.

Her body stiffened. Something wasn't right. A sound made her turn off the shower and grab a towel. Someone was outside.

Her gun was in the car. She stepped out and checked the room. There it was. A creaking. It wasn't the wind.

The noise was too slow for that. Someone was sneaking around on her porch. She ran to the bedroom and dressed.

The noise changed as she slipped on fresh clothes. She stopped when a shadow passed in front of her window.

Immediately, she grabbed a dagger from the nightstand. This was it. Charlie had sent hitters to get her. She peered out the window.

A blond man crouched near the corner. He was holding something metal in his hand. She went down the hall and out the back.

It was a sliding glass door making the softest sound when pushed open. She stepped out five feet behind her intruder and clutched the dagger. It would only take a second to send it into her assassin.

She was ready to strike when a voice from behind stopped her.


	3. Chapter 3

I don't own anything!

Chapter 3

Neighbour.

"Dad, who's this?"

She spun around and hid the knife behind her arm. Standing there was a ten-year old boy. He was wearing a denim jacket, jeans and carrying the remains of a kite.

Bright red and yellow cloth was wrapped with string. The heavy winds had shredded it.

The older man spun around. A small metal pipe was in his hand. More bits of string were tied to one end of the pipe and thoroughly entangled in her railing. She produced the dagger and cut it free.

"I'm sorry." A surprised man got up and offered his hand. "I didn't realize anyone was home. This place has been empty since I moved in." Her response was cut off by the wind.

It staggered her backwards, stinging her face. Quickly, she opened the door and motioned them inside. The boy came first, then his father.

"That's quite a storm starting. My name is Jasper. I hope I didn't scare you." He pointed at the knife, which she tossed into the sink.

"Just a little. Didn't you see my car?" She took a deep breath, wishing the boy would stop staring at her. It was disturbing, seeing his innocent face locked on hers. Maybe it just bothered her because she'd nearly killed his father.

"No. We live down the beach in the blue house. We came up from the front along the beach and followed the path in the rocks to your house. I would've knocked if I'd known. I just came up because one of our kites was blown up here."

"That's okay. Nice to meet you, Jasper, I'm Bella." She finally shook his hand. "Can I get you some coffee or something?"

"No. I guess we'd better get back before the storm gets here." He covered the pipe with his hand.

Bella noticed a wire hanging from one end. She took a step back. Kites weren't usually made with metal pipes. This guy didn't look like a local either.

He was around her age, thin, but muscular. His skin was tanned, like he'd lived here all his life, but the blue house down the beach was owned by an elderly couple that only came up twice a year.

"Which house did you say you lived in?" She edged her way back to the sink and her dagger.

"The blue one. It's the only other house in this section." He shifted his weight.

"What happened to the Coles?" Again he shifted nervously.

"Oh, they let me rent it. Wanted to get my boy away from the city for a while."

"You must be quite a guy for the Coles to rent to you. They never rent to anyone." She looked at the pipe again. He couldn't cover it completely with his arm. "I guess you'd better get back." She offered them a smile.

"I guess so." He took an uncertain step toward the door and pulled it open. "Race you home, Masen." The boy stepped out the door then barrelled down the front to the path and the beach.

Jasper followed while clutching the metal pipe. Bella waited until they were out of sight and went to her car to retrieve her gun.

She wouldn't be taken by surprise again. She fished it out from its hiding place as headlights came up the road.

A blue BMW turned into the driveway. It was Peter. The car was a rental but clearly his trademark. He liked things showy.

He parked at an angle, revved the engine once and shut it down. There was some fumbling inside the car.

When he came out, he was carrying a bottle of wine and a pizza from the restaurant thirty miles away.

"About time." She tucked the gun into the back of her pants and watched her young lover walk to her.

He was handsome with classic Italian features and a set of blue eyes from his mother's side. His hair was short with a slight goatee, as if he wasn't really old enough to grow facial hair. He wore jeans and a tank top.

There was the glint of gold as he walked toward her from the large tacky chain he wore around his neck.

"So, you missed me?" She smiled, took the pizza from him and led him up the stairs to her home.

The cold was overwhelming by the time she reached the porch. Running outside with wet hair didn't help matters. Peter came in behind her.

She felt his arms reach around her waist as she set the pizza on the dining room table. He was strong and barely old enough to buy the bottle of wine he'd brought. His libido matched his age. He reminded her of this as he pulled her body against him.

"Let's eat first." She hadn't realized how hungry she'd become. Dinner yesterday was the last time she'd eaten.

Peter sat down at the table while Bella set the table. She tossed him a corkscrew for the wine. While he struggled with that, she dug through the cabinet to find plates that weren't chipped.

"So who'd you do this time?"

"I don't want to talk shop." She set everything down on the pine table and filled her glass to the top. "Has anyone been asking questions about me?" She grabbed a barely warm slice from the box.

"No."

"Are you sure? Anyone asking about my jobs or schedule or anything?" He shook his head then looked at her quizzically.

"What's going on, Bells?" She rolled her eyes.

"Nothing and don't call me that." He looked at her earnestly from across the table, as if he might care. "It's nothing, really. I was just curious."

"Come on. Did it go wrong?" He leaned forward and filled his glass.

His eyes were intense as if studying everything in her response. This bothered her, the way he watched. She preferred to think of him as a handsome, but a mentally inferior thing. He was like a puppy, happy and pretty.

Quick to come when called and just as quick to leave. It was a cold way to think about him, but he was a convenient toy that really bothered Felix.

Peter rarely thought about anything other than sex and, as long as she didn't ask for anything else, he was content. She figured it was a mutually agreeable situation. She shook off the observation while watching his blue eyes.

"I never let a job go bad. You know that." She wasn't sure what he knew. Anything from Felix's loins couldn't be that impressive.

Of course, he had grown on her during the time they'd shared. She didn't like to admit it. Settling down with him wouldn't be an option, though. He was too much flash and not enough substance.

They finished dinner and went into the living room. Peter put on some soft rhythm and blues. She sat on the large brown couch and watched him dance around the room.

He kicked off his shoes and tossed his shirt to the floor in an awkward strip tease. She got up to go to him, when the cell phone clipped on his belt started ringing.

Without saying a word, he stepped into the kitchen for some privacy. Bella stood in the middle of the living room alone. The room was too dark but a bright lamp would disturb the mood.

She went to the cabinet that hid her television and took a pack of matches from the drawer beneath. A small array of candles were scattered throughout the room.

She lit several and glanced beyond the dining room into the kitchen. Peter had his back to her, but she could see his body tense up. He raised one hand, balled it into a fist and hit the counter.

Her home was set up in two sections. There was the front door, which opened on the living room. From there, a person could go into the dining room and kitchen, or continue through the living room to the sliding glass doors facing the beach.

She liked the fact whatever entrance people used, they would be near the living room, even if the sliding door was right next to the kitchen sink and the dirty dishes she usually left.

The hallway wall sectioned off the kitchen with an open area for an entrance. It continued down to the bedroom and bathroom. Bella took her matches to a small iron baker's rack she had in the hallway for knick-knacks.

Sitting in the middle of her dragon collection were two black and green candles. She struck the match and lit the first while listening outside the kitchen.

"Okay, baby. Don't worry about it. I'll be back in a couple of weeks." His tone became soft and tender. "I love you, too."

Love? She was astonished to hear him mutter the words.

So he had a girlfriend. It wasn't surprising. Their relationship was far from exclusive. Still, it bothered her. There had never been that bond or love or whatever people called it.

Emotionally, she'd only connected with Charlie, and their relationship was family. It would be nice to be desired though, to be in someone's heart and not just their bed.

She lit the next candle and set the box of matches on the rack near her favourite dragon. It was a baby, hatching from an egg. Its little red and black head had broken through along with one clawed hand.

She touched it gently and scooted it closer to what represented its mother. This one was a grand creature standing nearly eighteen inches tall with its tail coiled around its body.

"Here you are." He started kissing the back of her neck. His hands ran under her shirt touching those delicate places.

It was like anything else. She would simply not think about it or the repercussions. He'd chosen to come to her and for now, that was enough.

She reached behind her and touched him. As she felt him tighten, she wondered about the girl he'd been on the phone with.

Her mouth opened and she almost asked about the other woman. There was a tinge of jealousy. He'd never spoken to her of love. It was unimportant.

At least she wasn't alone tonight. She shut her mouth and let him continue while she closed her eyes and thought of the one who'd gotten away, the one man she could only imagine, Edward.


	4. Chapter 4

**I don't own anything!**

**Chapter 3**

**Nosy **

Women could keep a multitude of secrets and hide even more sins, but he never thought of Bella as a woman.

Charlie tapped his fingers on the lacquered desk in a slow rhythm as he considered her fate. The hit looked like her doing, but he didn't think it was possible for her to pull off both jobs in the amount of time she had. That meant someone was setting her up.

He glanced at a photo on his desk of his wife, kids, grandchildren and Bella. She held the newest edition, a six-month old boy.

There was no hardness to her face in that picture. In fact, a rare but genuine smile had been captured.

It was getting late and he didn't like where his thoughts travelled. He got up from his desk and touched the plants arranged on his curio cabinet. His secretary had said the place needed a homey touch.

She'd added her influence over every part of his business. Charlotte was a good secretary, although a little young. She wasn't more than twenty, but she was an old twenty.

One day, she'd marched into the office wearing a short skirt and showing incredible cleavage. For the first time in his forty-year marriage, he'd been tempted.

He might've even given in, except she'd said something that snapped him and his penis out of whatever plans they were contemplating. She'd said,

"I know you're married, but guys like you need a little extra."

It was the Italian stereotype, a wife on Fridays and the whore on Saturdays. It wasn't a bad label, powerful, manly, but no one was going to fit him into a category.

He'd seen it happen too many times. Money and power could earn respect, then again, what remained when the man was stripped of everything? It shouldn't be something too weak to obey vows or resist whores.

He rubbed his meaty neck and felt the sweat building. He was afraid for the first time in his life. Surely, Bella wasn't going against his family, their family?

She could run the organization. Hell, she might do a better job than he could. Deep inside, he knew ambition grew like an evil seed, but Bella had never been power hungry.

Maybe she'd become too smart for her own good and realized how things really worked around here.

He took his jacket from the brass rack that stood in the corner and folded it over his arm. He picked up the manila envelope from the desk. Some things didn't go through his secretary.

He carried it out to the hallway and to a small room they kept office supplies in. There were Fed-Ex envelopes stuck in cubbies above a postage machine.

He took one from the shelf and marked it for next day delivery. This one, he would personally leave on the first floor in the mailroom. It would go out tomorrow and be in Bella's hands the day after. It was an odd procedure.

One he'd implemented after catching Charlotte reading mail marked confidential. The envelope hadn't been sealed, which didn't make it hard for a curious eye.

Charlotte seemed loyal in all other aspects. It might just be she as a nosey woman. He'd tried to shrug it off. The real reason for the mistrust was the hunger in her eyes, more than ambition. It looked evil. Given that, he felt better bypassing Charlotte's desk.

Good secretary or not, he didn't need any extra eyes in his business. The Feds were bad enough. Twice, he had to appear on charges of price fixing. Honest businessmen must go through hell to make a buck. He shut the door to the room.

It was a newer building, but that room had a dark, musty feel. The copier room two doors down smelled even worse. Something about the scent of hot machinery and ink didn't agree with him.

Most people never noticed. Then again, most people were idiots. The package contained material on a hit, nothing special. He didn't want Bella to know she was a suspect.

A warning would be sent out soon, so for now, it would be business as usual. Charlie closed the envelope and tucked it under his arm. He left the room, leaving behind the click click of his shoes against the tiled section of the floor.

He didn't hear anyone else in the hall as he hit the button for the elevator, nor did he see anyone slide into the supply room to look for scraps left behind.

Bella sat on her porch watching lightning dance off the ocean. Night had fallen but no stars or moon penetrated the darkness covering the sky. The storm had been amazing.

Thunder woke her nearly an hour ago while her lover slept. She crept out to the porch wearing only an old button down shirt. Somehow, the cold wasn't as terrible now.

The wind still blew but it had turned warm and wet. Waves leapt skyward as another bolt crashed from the heavens. Storms this fierce usually didn't last long.

Too much energy burned up in its performance. Its very life, the movement of air, the gathering of clouds and the electricity were all for this moment, all for her to watch.

She stood at the edge of the porch and spread her arms as rain struck her body. Her lungs filled with the smell of the ocean, of the storm. She felt united with this force, this feeling of immense energy and strength from nature. At that moment, nothing was beyond her.

She could fly. Another brilliant shard of light split the sky. The crash reverberated in her ears like a gunshot, so many gunshots, and her sense of wellbeing vanished.

More lightning struck. The air split and for a moment she thought she saw blood on the horizon. Blood. There had been too much blood.

The colour had been a trick of light. The bright flashes had temporarily marred her vision. It was odd how red could make her only think of murder. She didn't think of love or Valentines or cherries. Only death.

"How many have I killed?" she whispered to the night.

She'd lost count, maybe she'd lost everything that mattered. Lightning felt like it had cut through her. Her heart ached and her breathing sped up. She fell to her knees, trembling.

With all her senses afire, it felt as if her core were glass and it shattered, freeing what was left of her soul.

Tears filled her eyes. She hadn't cried since her father died but these wouldn't stop. She sobbed like a child as she curled up in a ball.

So many emotions muted to black and white became alive in colour and the overload felt like it would kill her. She hurt.

The storm let out another crack but it faded into the ocean. The angry waves could be heard again. They beat the shore in protest, gathering up the tiny things that couldn't hold on and spit them onto the beach.

She wasn't sure how much time passed with her lying there. Rain had stopped. In the distance, a seagull cried.

She rubbed her eyes and sat up, feeling the imprint of the hard boards in her side. A flush of embarrassment coloured her cheeks.

She hoped Peter hadn't seen. Her body trembled in the night air. She went back inside and pulled a throw from the back of the couch. She didn't want to share a bed with Peter tonight.

A musty smell held onto the old throw, but the soft knit felt good. She wrapped it around herself, seeing the blue envelope her body.

As she covered up, the corner swept over the table, knocking peter's cell phone to the floor. She picked it up and hit the power button without conscience thought.

Like so many times in her life, she worked from instinct. Everything went on autopilot and maybe that's what made her good at her job. She'd been complemented for her planning, her good sense, but in reality, reaction, not thinking, made her better.

She knew what someone else was going to do before they acted because she felt it. The green display came to life. The menu was next, then she had to choose between incoming calls and outgoing.

She chose incoming. The last three calls shocked her. They were from the office. Felix didn't like making calls from the office, but it seemed normal enough until a sick feeling started in her throat and settled in the pit of her stomach.

The last phone call was from a woman…a woman in the office. She'd been an outsider from the moment she was born.

Her "adoption" into Charlie's family had only meant something to Charlie's father. It shouldn't matter.

She was the best at her job and Peter didn't mean anything to her. The calls, the girl, shouldn't make a difference but the thought of him dating someone inside the company terrified her.

Someone was on her turf. There was more than jealousy. She stepped to the kitchen, hoping to wash away the feeling of cotton in her mouth. The glasses were a little dusty.

She pulled one from the cupboard and rinsed it off. The water didn't taste great, but it made her feel better. She went to the side of the kitchen that faced the drive.

A few streetlights flickered. One poised near her car reflected a form. Bella squinted and saw her dome light on.

"Son of a …" She grabbed her purse from the table and pulled a small pair of binoculars from inside then returned to the window.

A man rifled inside her car. As she watched, his head poked up from the dash. It was her friendly neighbour, Jasper.

It would be easy to pick him off from here. She reached for her pistol, but changed her plans. There was more to Jasper than met the eye. It was time to get to know the enemy and who'd sent him.

She slinked back to her bedroom and finished dressing. Her Italian stallion was too busy snoring to notice her absence.

His mouth hung open with drool slopping onto the pillow. With the gun tucked in her waistband, she looked back out the window. Her intruder kept busy.

It only gave her a few minutes but she'd done more with less time. She went out the ocean side, down the dune, and to the walk of the Webber's home.

Breaking in was easier than she expected. Jasper had left the front door unlocked.

She creaked open the screen and went inside. The living room hadn't changed since her last visit.

That's how the Webber's were. They liked their lives to be a certain way, a routine, and to deviate would be worse than sin. This was also the first time she'd ever heard of them renting the place out.

She made her way upstairs to the bedrooms. The first door she opened was the son's room. Masen, she thought was his name. He slept, tucked in with the blankets up to his chest.

A teddy bear sat at the foot of the bed and his dirty clothes were on the floor. The next bedroom was a small guest room she didn't expect to see used. That would be the last one she checked.

Jasper would be staying in the master bedroom. She opened that door and flashed around a small penlight. Immediately, she took a step backward.

Her foot stopped inches from ripped flooring. The wooden slats had been systematically removed. Several of them had been placed against the wall with paper tags attached.

There was no furniture left. The only décor was plastic bags and small brown bottles lining the wall where the flooring remained. An odd light, like a black light leaned against the window frame.

She backed into the hall and stopped at the guest room. Jasper was using it. A suitcase, still packed, sat on the floor. The dresser had the typical guy things, change, a few business cards, and his wallet.

She checked the cards but none of the names looked familiar. She took the wallet and found his ID. Mr Jasper Whitlock of Texas, and inside was a laminated work badge. It looked like the ones the feds carried.

Before she could read it the door below slammed shut. Jasper had arrived home. She pulled the gun from her waistband and went to the stairs.

He stood on the landing. He held a bag, probably from her car. She drew down on him. It was an easy shot.

It would be one bullet between the eyes. Then she heard a faint cough from the next room. If she shot the father, the boy would come running. She cursed herself as she slid back into his room and under the bed. It was a demeaning position, like a busted mistress.

She breathed in the musty smells of dust and old mattress. The floor around her creaked as the bedroom door opened.

A puff of dust rained down while above her head, Jasper sat going through his bag of goodies. The springs wailed as he bounced above with excitement.

"Bella, just what have you been doing?" It was time to get to work. She rolled out from under the bed in one swift motion.

He was taken off guard and dropped the bloody top she'd been wearing earlier. Her gun, pointed at his head, held Jasper's attention.

"This can go two ways. One, you can follow me outside where we can talk or I can leave your brain as a bloody wad on the pillow for your son to find. Choose."

"Daddy, are you asleep?" Masen's small voice came from the door. She had time to shoot.

It would've been easy to blow them both apart. Part of her just wanted to end this mess. Instead, she mouthed 'answer him' and her gun quivered with uncertainty.

"This isn't a good time, son. Go back to bed." Jasper inched toward her.

She prayed he'd stop before she had to put a bullet between his eyes. He came just a little closer.

She looked at the silencer, wondering how much longer she could wait before seeing the dust expel the chamber and Jasper fall to the floor. It would force her to kill Masen too. She didn't want to see a kid die.

"Is something wrong?" The door began to open.


End file.
